The Chronicles of the Prince, Part 1
by MattisGod
Summary: The Prince overlooks his city, his heart crumbling much like his resolve. Depending on feedback, I will make a part 2.
1. Awakening Sunset

The curtains of an old, Arabian-style window rustled.

The sound of tight, metal and leather armor could be heard clattering down the corridor.

Panting, like that of a wounded dog, could be heard well down the hall.

The pounding, deafening beat of the heart was only audible to one, though.

The Prince continued to blast down the hall.

Moist, raven black hair clung irritably to his slick forehead, sweat consistently stinging his eyes with each great stride. But he couldn't stop, no, not now. He growled away the pain and continued his progress through the dusty, bland ramshackle hallway. A hallway full of memories.

"_My father's house…"_

But, before he could become absorbed in his reminiscence, a black shape materialized in front of him, blasting a bout of sand into the air surrounding it. The fearsome sight would have struck any man as deadly, as the end of his life. The black, demonic veins that coursed up its arms, the hollow eyes that promised only an eternity of cruel, unending pain. The corded muscles lined with scars. This creature showed no fear, no intelligence. Only the sense that it would be the end of the Prince's life.

The Prince grinned.

His eyes flashed, as did his dagger from its sheath. The cold steel gleamed in the pre-dusk light, catching every nick and chip on its sharp, sleek silver surface. The demon's reflection could be seen in the steel as it whistled towards it, the Prince continually pressing it onward, burying it in its chest.

Crouching, he pivoted his hips to position himself behind the creature, all the while removing his dagger. Before the creature could gasp at the remarkable, and new pain, the blade was hilt deep through the hollow spot in the back of its neck, pushing through the front of its throat. Oilish blood sprayed, poured, then dripped. The Prince, blood-spattered and battle hardened, laughed.

Then he twisted the hilt.

Before he could remove it, though, sand permeated the air around him as more of the demonic beings came into existence. Realizing the dagger was a lost, and pointless cause, due to it being wedged in the hollow neck casing, he spun around in a defensive crouch, eyeing down the seven new challengers.

Raising its rune-etched sword, one of the creatures struck. Deftly avoiding the blade by only a few inches, the Prince thrust a well-placed kick into the creatures throat, shattering whatever may have been there previous. Before the creature's hilt could touch the ground, its sword was in the grip of one much more capable: The Prince.

Holding it in an opposite grip, the Prince thrust the sword behind him, taking one of the creatures in the chest. Removing the blade and spinning behind it at an opposite angle, he sliced out the demon's hamstrings.

Before the demon had ever hit the ground, the Prince had taken two more heads. In the ensuing shower of oil-black blood, the sword was flung through the black mist, taking a creature in the chest and pinning it to the wall, as the oilish substance collected beneath its fading body.

The two remaining sand-demons backed up, their hollow, yellow eyes wide with fear. Casually walking up to the wall-pinned body, the Prince placed his foot on the creature's chest and jerked his blade free. Grinning, he stalked towards the remaining two.

Realizing it would be in their best interest to do so…they fled.

Tearing through the dim-lit, Arabian corridors, they chose two different paths.

Rushing wind. Sharp side pains. Loss of breath. These were the only things it knew as it ran from mortal terror. Oily sweat trickled into its eye, which it grunted at but ran on anyway, for to stop was to die. It twisted, turned, and went everywhere. It knew….it knew it was lost. Yet death was too frightening to stop for.

But…down the corridor…THERE! There was the light-filled door! The entrance to the palace! It pushed itself past limits, elated beyond belief that it had escaped.

Which was why it was so surprised when a rune-etched sword took it in the chest.

As the demon fell towards the earth, with a stream of blood trailing behind it, the Prince emerged from the shadows, in which he had flung the sword. Since the creature had twisted onto its back during the fall, the Prince ripped the sword out of its chest, causing more blood to pool onto the floor.

Without wiping the blood off the rune-etched steel, he concealed himself in the shadows once more.

As the one remaining demon continued its blistering pace, it wondered how its companion was doing. Was it still alive? Would they meet up eventually in this labyrinth and defeat it? Where exactly was it going? Where is he? Where is it?

That's when it heard the growling, guttural scream of its soon-deceased companion. It shot a look behind it, worried the Shadow might be upon it. A wave of relief rushed over, not only because it wasn't being pursued, but because it knew it would make it. It knew it would make it out alive. It could feel it.

Then it ran into the pillar.

Minutes…hours…maybe even days. The creature knew no time when it awoke. All it knew was the blinding ferocity with which its skull had meshed with the stone column, which it now layed sprawled before. Vision….vision. Everything was so…so milky. So blurry. So…mixed and dreamy. But…above him…something…a shape. A black, shadowy shape…maybe…

Its eyes widened in abject horror and denial as it realized whose ice-blue eyes it now stared into.

Cold, rune-etched steel penetrated the soft, cool flesh of its throat.

The Prince, again blood spattered and soaked, softly, ever so softly, laughed.

Again, he twisted the cold, ancient hilt.


	2. Black Clouds on a Gray Horizon

The temperatures in and around the Arabian sands, while being swelteringly hot during the day, reach near freezing upon nightfall. It was nearly dusk, and the cold, biting wind could be felt all-to-keenly in the 2nd Palace.

The Prince raced up the levels, continually going higher. He had to get to the top observatory of the 2nd Palace, a wide, flat expanse at the highest point in his Kingdom. Up the winding staircases he ran, forgetting all pain his erratic breathing may bring to his sides. He ran until he was finally there. With a great, pumping kick, he launched through the door to the top of the 2nd Palace: The Observatory.

He landed uneasy, though, yet rolled in perfect balance back onto his feet. It was so cold the Prince could see his breath, and could already feel the cold, steel hilt growing icy in his grasp. When he raised himself up, he was far from alone, met by five of the demon spawn, 2 of which wielded spears.

The Prince, the warrior, unleashed his sword across the expanse between them and took a spear holder in the skull. Before the pike had even struck the ground, the Prince exploded into motion, grabbing the nearest creature by the neck and crushing it's throat with his thumb. He then locked and snapped its elbow, to which it responded with a heart-piercing cry of agony; the Prince used its own sword to silence it.

After he kicked that creature away, he flipped the sword over, dropped to one knee, and thrust the blood-black steel behind him, fully taking the demon there in the groin. It made no noise. It made no movements. It only fell, clutching its torn and splintered loins.

The only one left was a lone spear wielder. To its credit, it bravely charged the Prince with a great battle cry. The Prince dodged to the left and cut the tip from the pike. Then he used the ancient, rune-etched steel to tear out the creature's throat.

The Prince surveyed the remains of the battle. He walked forward a few feet, but then had to lean against a column. Not out of weariness, mind you, but out of, truthfully, fear and awe. Sprawled out before him was the great series of structures known as the 1st Palace. It was revered as the most amazing, beautiful, complicated, and truly awe inspiring sights in the world, quite possibly the true 9th Wonder. The 2nd Palace, which he was atop, was more for the scholars, more of an outpost; out of the way, really.

But that God-felling sight was not what caught his breath this night. Before the 1st Palace, the Pearl of the Kingdom, not to mention his Father's true home, were many, many black shapes. The very same demonic incarnations he'd been battling all night. But there weren't just a few, like he had fought.

There were thousands. Tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands. Archers, infantry siege engines, demonic war elephants, trebuchets.

His home, his kingdom, a place he had called home since birth and loved with all his heart, body, and soul…He recognized the terrible, crushing pain only truth can bring:

His home was under siege. The sound of his ancient steel clattering to the ground echoed off the Observatory's many high, smooth, stone columns.

He dropped to his knees…and wept.

_**Thus concludes the Chronicles of the Prince, Part 1**_


End file.
